Arsenic
by TroublingAStar
Summary: He was her poison.


Arsenic

Lucrecia Crescent was a woman of science. Every action of hers proceeded logically from the last, a never-ending chain of events that flowed as smoothly as the pocket watch her father used to keep. She was never rash, never vain—well. No, she did have her vanity. Those red heels certainly did nothing to help her in the lab, though it certainly gave her a height advantage when conversing with her colleagues. And perhaps that lavender blouse was a bit more frilly than necessary, but really, being a scientist didn't have to mean giving up her femininity. Still, though, she prided herself on being a generally intelligent, cool-headed person.

Vincent brought out the worst in her. He made her desire, he made her see, and he made her jaded. She couldn't believe in Shinra after meeting him. She had known, of course, that the company was hardly pristine—what _was_ pristine any more, in their world?—but none of that had mattered to her. None of it touched her when she was in the lab or out on the field. As long as the grants kept coming, did it really matter where they were coming from? If the money was blood money? What she was doing would benefit everyone, from the intellectuals to the slums of Midgar.

Worst of all, Vincent made her _remember_. Lucrecia hated that more than anything—those memories of the kind old man who had been her mentor. The elder Valentine had guided her, taught her everything she knew, and, ultimately, died for her. They all died for her, it seemed—her mother, her father, Grimoire. How could she keep those memories at bay when the handsome Turk was always around?

He was undeniably attractive, of course. The women in town always whispered and giggled whenever he was around, speculating on his love life, his work life, everything that composed the enigma he was. Lucrecia was an intellectual, yes, but she also had eyes, had a heart that could be moved when he sat with her in the flowers and murmured Cetra poetry from the books he read in his spare time. He would offer to lend her books, but she would always turn him down, unsure what would happen if she ever said yes. She knew it was irrational, but she feared keeping anything of his. Would a simple book of poetry be spattered with blood? His hands were unclean, weren't they? And supposing she did eventually accept his offers. Would he court her? Or did he simply enjoy her platonic company? He never said anything either way, and she found herself growing more frustrated by the day. Would he talk to her today or just brush her off coldly and blame it on work? Did he care for her? Could a murderer care for anyone?

But she was a scientist, not a schoolgirl mooning over a good-looking man! She had goals! She had dreams! She wanted her thesis on Omega to be taught in every graduate program; she didn't want to be a married woman. She knew, deep in her heart, that the affection would grow, as a virus, eventually leaving her a nervous wreck every time he got sent off on a mission. He was a Turk; every mission could easily be his last.

She didn't want that. She didn't have time for love.

She told him so, and oh how it _hurt_ when he didn't even act like he gave a damn. Very well, he had told her, good luck with your studies, in that same soft voice he had used to read her a love poem the day before. I really do, he had continued, and her imbecile of a heart had leapt, I really do wish you luck.

Lucrecia Crescent had no need for luck or love, for that matter. All she needed was her science, and there was one man who could give that to her.

Low on funds? Hojo cackled at this, finding it amusing for some reason. Very well, I have need of a woman, and you will do the job nicely.

She would rather be needed than lucky, she decided, as she let him put the ring on her finger.

After all, luck was a fickle thing.

* * *

Just a little Lucrecia fic, mainly my attempt to understand her actions before the events of FF7 (also, she needs a little love. Vincent, among others, deserve the blame too). Also: THE ENDING. GAH. SO MUCH PHRASING AND REPRHASING AND ADDING. I hope it came out okay, lol.

Nothing belongs to me.


End file.
